


warm honey, rose blush

by wintersrose616



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: 5+1 Things, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, M/M, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:46:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23268682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintersrose616/pseuds/wintersrose616
Summary: Anyone who looks longer than half a second could tell there was something different about Sylvain’s clinginess, about the way Felix insists on taking his meals with Sylvain. The others know, and Felix knows that they do, but they do nothing to confirm it. If they don’t voice their acknowledgment, Felix can still pretend that the others are ignorant to what transpires when he and Sylvain can steal moments alone.They’re in the midst of a war, they don’t have the time. They’re the best non-secret secret of the monastery. Felix intends to keep it that way, at least until the war’s ended.Enbarr confirms it..It's unfortunate, how publicly affectionate Sylvain is.or, five times Sylvain kisses Felix in public, and once where Felix kisses him first
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 24
Kudos: 296





	warm honey, rose blush

They’re the worst kept secret throughout the army. Anyone who looks longer than half a second could tell there was something different about Sylvain’s clinginess, about the way Felix insists on taking his meals with Sylvain. The others _know_ , and Felix knows that they do, but they do nothing to confirm it. If they don’t voice their acknowledgment, Felix can still pretend that the others are ignorant to what transpires when he and Sylvain can steal moments alone. Sylvain is always adamant about how much he cherishes Felix, no matter that Felix, in his stubbornness, refuses to acknowledge they’re anything more than friends in public. 

They’re in the midst of a war, they don’t have the time. They’re the best non-secret secret of the monastery. Felix intends to keep it that way, at least until the war’s ended.

Enbarr confirms it.

**one.**

The first time Sylvain kisses him in public, they’re both covered in blood and sweat, exhaustion dripping off of them in waves. 

The battle through the city itself had been a prelude to the nightmare landscape of the palace. Felix had spent most of the battles keeping his eyes peeled for Sylvain on his warhorse, to ensure both were still alive and fighting throughout their swarms of enemies. The main goal was getting Dimitri and the professor into the throne room Edelgard had locked herself up in, but that meant getting through the courtyard, which was packed full with the last stand of the Imperial army.

The day was far too nice for a battle consisting of so much bloodshed. The sun shines brightly in a brilliantly blue sky, barely any clouds in sight. The rays reflect, shimmering against the wide canals running through Enbarr’s streets, and the ponds and fountains that litter the palace. 

Felix is stopped near the base of a statue, eyes peeled on the throne room’s doors that the professor and Dimitri had disappeared into. Halfway across the palace’s courtyard is Sylvain, on his horse. Felix’s breath is caught in his throat as he struggles to get it under control. The last of their enemies out here have been slain. The wait for those doors to open is agonising. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sylvain dismount, his lance still gripped tight. Felix doesn’t look to him— _can’t_ yet. He knows Sylvain is alive. He has no idea about the professor or Dimitri.

When the doors finally swing open, the figures that emerge are ones that make Felix release a rush of breath. Dimitri steps out alongside the professor, Dedue a few steps behind them. Sylvain drops his lance when he spots them, and Felix doesn’t have a moment longer than a breath to process that they’ve _won_ before Sylvain’s scooping him off his feet, crushing him against his breastplate to get his lips on him. Felix is so used to feeling warm, loved, whenever Sylvain kisses him. At Enbarr, Sylvain kisses him so fiercely that he can feel the relief pouring off of him. It’s an awful kiss, taste wise, at least. Dust and iron and salt invade his senses, but it’s warm, warm, _warm_ , and soaked with reassurance that they’re both alive, they’re both breathing. 

Felix is so wrapped up in it that he barely hears the noise from the others, celebrating their victory. He hears Annette’s cheer, wet and wobbly with relief, and his common sense rushes back. He draws back as much as he can, still lifted off his feet with Sylvain’s arms like a vice grip around his waist. He shoves at Sylvain’s chest, trying to get him to put him down, but when he meets Sylvain’s golden gaze, shining with tears, he stops fighting. Sylvain grins, knocking their foreheads together as he lowers him onto the stones, still holding him close. There’s blood splattered and drying against his skin, scattered in his windswept hair, but his smile steals Felix’s breath away, just from the sheer joy that radiates from it.

“We won,” Sylvain whispers, voice airy.

Felix can feel the heat in his face, the thumping of his heart from more than just adrenaline. He lifts his hand, cupping Sylvain’s jaw. Sylvain’s eyes close as his thumb traces the soft skin just beneath his lashes, and Felix’s lips curl upwards into a smile. “We won.”

**two.**

He’s used to Sylvain’s clinginess. He’s been used to it for nearly two decades, for as long as they’ve known each other. He used to be just as bad, wanting his hands to be held, or his tears to be wiped away by someone else. Sylvain was normally always there to brush them away, smiling a toothy grin that was missing teeth to reassure Felix that no matter what, things were fine. 

While Felix has grown more reserved, Sylvain’s always been touchy, and it’s grown worse as they age. It’s not unusual for him to show his affection via touch with the others. An arm thrown around Ashe’s shoulders, kisses dropped to the crowns of Annette and Mercedes’ heads, his need for Dedue’s hugs, or the kisses he presses onto Ingrid’s cheeks. He drapes himself against Felix’s back, slips his arms around his waist, but he’s never crossed any line Felix doesn’t truly want, and kissing in public has been the one thing he’s put his foot down with. There’s been only one rare occasion where he’s vehemently gone against Felix’s wishes, and that had been the battle of Enbarr. Now, months later, with Dimitri crowned king and the two of them members of his council, there’s been no reason for Sylvain to push his luck.

Felix’s only complaints about publicly kissing are truly about how red he gets when it happens. Even when they sneak away to secluded corridors, with hardly any chance of getting caught, Felix knows his face is on fire. Sylvain will always comment on it, always drag a knuckle lovingly down Felix’s cheek, spreading the flame of his flush throughout his touch. Felix hates it; he can’t fight against the feeling that burns from his cheeks, to the tips of his ears, and well down his chest. 

“Your blush is as pretty as a rose,” Sylvain whispers, voice warm and syrupy, and that normally breaks him out of his reviere to stomp away from him, ignoring his deep laughter that follows him down the halls. 

Sylvain normally respects his wishes when they’re _not_ alone.

The council room sits largely empty, twenty minutes before the council meeting is supposed to start. Only Dimitri and Felix are in the room, overlooking papers and documents spread across the table, the discussion on trade routes something that bores Felix to his core, though it’s a necessity that he needs to endure. They both glance up when the door opens to reveal Sylvain, surprisingly early, but Ingrid follows him a half step behind. Dimitri greets them both before going back to the discussion of getting a main road built to reconnect Nuvelle with them. Felix is so caught up in Dimitri’s ideas that he doesn’t notice Sylvain doesn’t take his seat, and instead, grabs Felix’s wrist. Before Felix can protest, Sylvain’s tugging him closer, taking the lone step into Felix’s space and leaning down to brush a chaste kiss against his lips.

Felix’s brain stops working as Sylvain draws back, winking.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he murmurs, before stepping away to take his seat. 

Felix stays standing straight, body tense. He blinks rapidly, staring at the empty space Sylvain had been a moment prior. Ingrid's amused hum breaks him out of it.

"You broke him."

He whirls, trying not to gnash his teeth together as he blushes furiously. "Shut up!" He jabs a finger towards Sylvain, who’s sitting down and looks far too smug for his liking. “And _you_!” Sylvain spreads his palms, but let’s Felix snap, “Stop doing that!”

_“Well_ ,” he drawls, dropping his hands to cross his arms over his chest, “if someone hadn’t decided to get out of bed _before_ the crack of dawn, I could’ve gotten my morning kiss then, and wouldn’t have needed to.” 

Felix’s hand instinctively reaches for his sword, though he knows he would never use it on him. Sylvain just grins, waggling his eyebrows, and Felix wants to take back his prior assessment, because he definitely could beat Sylvain in a sparring match to work out his flustered feelings to make himself feel better.

“Anyway!” Dimitri says, voice cheery and decidedly unhelpful. “Trade routes!”

“Trade routes,” says Sylvain, nodding and leaning an elbow on the table. “Tell me about ‘em, buddy.”

Felix makes a noise, half strangled in his throat, and turns. “I’m getting water!”

“Ah, but the council starts in—”

“I’ll be back by then!” 

“Get me a drink, too, gorgeous?” Sylvain asks, and just laughs at the gesture Felix directs at him as he storms from the room.

**three.**

The Royal School of Sorcery is not something that’s a high priority to Felix personally, not even after the war. While the school itself hadn’t been damaged during the war, its reputation had been decidedly wrecked by Cornelia and her mages when they had slipped into its ranks. Even then, it’s not something Felix would have cared about, save for Annette. Her insistence on helping the school find its footing and get a staff that cared about the students had garnered the attention of most of Dimitri’s personal council, and even a few members from the larger council as a whole. 

It took months of effort and work, but Annette cheerfully announces to them all on a warm day in the midst of summer that the school was already accepting new students with _her_ as one of the head professors. 

That, of course, meant tours.

Annette is only half-willing to let them tour her new classroom at the sorcery school. The embarrassment she felt at showing it off is greatly outweighed by the pride she felt at being able to accomplish everything with minimal catastrophes. She’s done them in small batches, so as not to get too overwhelmed and cause herself to stumble or break anything. Dimitri and Mercedes had been the first two to be allowed within the school’s walls with her; the others came later. As the Duke of Fraldarius, and the future Margrave Gautier, he and Sylvain are high up on Annette’s list.

The school itself is grand. Felix had never had any interest in it before, nor had Sylvain. Their childhood visits to Fhirdiad were spent largely in the castle, not wandering the streets to see the sights.

Sylvain keeps an arm around Felix’s shoulders, keeping him pressed to his side. Annette doesn’t mind, as she shows off her classroom and her wall of books. Felix is only slightly annoyed, but knows it’s not worth the effort to shrug him off, because Sylvain will only get clingier to tease him. His arms are crossed about his chest, and his eyes wander the high windows, the clutter on top of Annette’s desk that he notices Sylvain actively avoids looking at.

“So, how’s it feel being a teacher?” asks Sylvain. “Are you following ol’ Byleth’s guidance path?”

“Well, I—thankfully—don’t need to instruct in more than just magic,” Annette says, clasping her hands in front of her chest. “ _But_! I think Byleth’s teachings are definitely the foundation I want to use for the way I want to teach!”

She goes through a few of the papers on her desk, showing off lesson plans, and individual study guides she’s made for her students. 

Felix is in the middle of asking Annette if she has any classroom songs when Sylvain bends slightly and Felix feels the brush of his lips press to the center of his forehead. He stops short, mid-sentence, lips parted. The heat rushes through him, followed quickly by indignant anger as he slams an elbow out. 

Sylvain makes a pained noise, immediately shifting away as he clutches at his ribs. He’s hunched slightly, face twisted in mild pain, but when Felix meets his gaze, he has the audacity to _wink_.

“Really?” asks Annette. “Right here, in my classroom?” 

“It was a forehead kiss!” Sylvain protests, still looking self-satisfied. “ _That’s_ not allowed now?” 

“Definitely not,” says Felix.

“Ugh, you two are the worst,” Annette declares.

**four.**

It’s not his official duty, but Felix is determined to make sure the newest recruits for the King’s personal knights are up for the job. The duty falls on Ashe’s shoulders, technically, while he balances knighthood and training his younger siblings to take up the mantle of House Gaspard, but he doesn’t bat an eye when Felix stands in the shadows of the pillars, watching the recruits go through drills. He can already spot a few that need to train more, and intends to tell Ashe to drill them until they’re halfway decent at what is supposed to be their job.

He doesn’t glance over his shoulder when he hears the doors to the grounds open, but he does tense when a presence stops just behind him. A large hand rests against the small of his back, causing Felix to relax his shoulders, glancing briefly to the side as Sylvain steps forward to stand beside him. He's still dressed relatively down for the day, and Felix frowns, knowing he was supposed to be elsewhere. 

“I thought you were with Dimitri,” he states.

“I was,” says Sylvain. He hesitates for just a moment, before blurting, "My father is summoning me back to Gautier.”

Felix blinks, glancing over, ignoring the recruits and Ashe’s voice to focus solely on Sylvain. “What?”

He knew this was a possibility. Felix had left his uncle in charge of managing Fraldarius territory while they get the affairs of the kingdom in order. It’s been nearly a year since Dimitri’s coronation, and he hasn’t returned home once. Sylvain’s father had been at the coronation ceremony, but had returned to Gautier to leave his son to handle things on his behalf. It wouldn’t have been unheard of for the Margrave to summon Sylvain back to his home territory—it hadn’t happened _yet_ , though. Felix had assumed that the Margrave was more than happy to communicate with his heir through messengers and letters.

Felix didn’t _want_ for it to happen. 

Sylvain gives him a wry smile, his palm warm against his back, thumb brushing a gentle pattern. His other hand takes Felix’s in his own. “It shouldn’t be for too long,” he says, “but my presence is _required_.”

“Required,” Felix echoes, unamused.

Sylvain shrugs, and Felix frowns as he bends to press a kiss to the back of his hand. He readies to tell him to knock it off, but Sylvain releases his hand and straightens. “It shouldn’t be for too long,” he repeats. 

“When will you leave?” he asks.

Another shrug. “Dimitri thinks a week should be long enough to make sure I’m prepared.”

Felix huffs a small breath. Dimitri’s giving him a boon. It would take Sylvain less than two days to be packed and ready, but they’re drawing this out. _Good_ , he thinks. _Let the Margrave wait_. 

“I wonder what could be so important.”

Sylvain hums, taking his hand again. Felix glances over, but none of the recruits or other guards are paying them any attention. “It’s probably just an excuse to berate me for not returning without a summons.”

“You’re a valued member of the King’s personal council,” states Felix. “Why would you?”

Sylvain slips his fingers between Felix’s, drawing his hand up to kiss his knuckles this time. Felix’s lips press in a thin line, but Sylvain speaks, breath ghosting against his skin.

“Because I _am_ the future Margrave,” he offers. “I should probably know my territory and people, hm?”

“You know them well enough.” He tries to tug his hand away, but Sylvain's grip is unyielding. “Let me go.”

Sylvain releases him, but the palm against his back presses, sending him stumbling forward. He opens his mouth to complain, “ _Syl_ —,” halfway out of his mouth, but Sylvain presses a kiss to his nose, making him stop short. 

Felix has learned he hates public kissing, because his brain stops functioning when it happens. 

He blinks, and Sylvain takes the moment’s pause to steal a chaste kiss, before he releases Felix completely and steps away. He spreads his palms, smugness clear as he moves nonchalantly back towards the door.

“You—,” he grits out, but Sylvain grins, obviously pleased.

“I’ve got to go get the rest of our plans smoothed out with His Majesty,” Sylvain says, loud enough to draw the attention of the others in the training grounds. “I just wanted to let you know! Love you!” 

_“You_ —!” Felix manages again, stepping forward, but Sylvain moves quicker, rushing to the door and darting from the grounds.

Fleeing, as if Felix would dignify chasing him through the castle corridors. He whirls, face alight, and finds some of the recruits looking at him, the others wisely looking at their commander, and their commander, Ashe, _grinning._

“Don’t say a word,” he growls.

“Aw, Felix, I think it’s sweet!” says Ashe.

Felix throws his hands up and turns, marching out of the training grounds.

**five.**

The morning Sylvain is set to leave for Gautier is a lazy one. Felix hates being idle, but when dawn crests through the window, he settles back into Sylvain’s arms, just lingering until Sylvain wakes and has to ready for his departure. He knows Sylvain won’t be gone that long, in the grand scheme of things, but they’ve been side by side for months now. Felix knows if it was anywhere but back to Gautier, he wouldn’t be feeling this anxious, but he was.

A nose presses to the back of his neck, warm breath pooling against his skin. “You’re thinking too loud,” Sylvain mumbles, voice sleep thick.

Felix huffs a small breath, laying his hand over where Sylvain’s rests on his stomach. “One of us has to.”

Sylvain laughs, deep and rumbling. “Is it past dawn? I don’t want to open my eyes and check.” 

“It is,” Felix tells him, tilting his head. Sylvain lifts his, blinking his eyes open, and Felix presses a kiss to his chin. “C’mon. We need to get up.”

“Technically—,” Sylvain starts, pausing as his jaw cracks with a yawn. “Technically, only I have to. You don’t need to see me off.”

Felix scoffs. “Like I wouldn’t.”

Sylvain smiles, still sleep rumpled, but doesn’t protest as they get up and dressed. All of the final preparations had been made the night before—including the small gift of baked goods Mercedes had sent from the orphanage to allow him snacks for his trip. 

_It’s not forever_ , he reminds himself, as Dimitri gives Sylvain a warm embrace and wishes him a safe and swift journey. _It is not forever_. 

He would be surprised if the Margrave kept Sylvain longer than two moons. He knows the forthcoming weeks are going to be agonisingly long, but he’s prepared to spend his nights alone. Sylvain squeezes him into a hug before going to his warhorse. Felix waits, his foot tapping against the stone ground, before he moves. Sylvain’s just swung himself up into the saddle, glancing at Felix in mild surprise at his approach. His gaze flits over Felix’s head, most likely to their other friends, still waiting to see him off, but Felix knows his attention will be solely on him. 

His lips curl up into a smile as Felix reaches out, brushing his hand against Sylvain’s thigh. Sylvain doesn’t voice anything—he bends forward as Felix rises up onto his tip toes. His gloved hand cups Felix’s jaw, guiding his lips to his own. The sigh that Sylvain exhales against his lips holds all of the emotions Felix himself refuses to admit.

“I’ll be back soon,” Sylvain promises, thumb stroking the arc of Felix’s cheekbone.

“I know.”

“I’ll write, too,” he says. “Right when I arrive.”

Felix huffs, smiling slightly as he shakes his head. “Ridiculous. You’ll be gone less than three moons.”

“You _don’t_ want me to write?” Sylvain asks, mock hurt filling his tone. “It only takes two weeks to get a messenger from Gautier territory to Fhirdiad—twelve days, if I give them enough coin.”

“Ridiculous,” Felix repeats. His tone is fond. “Write if you want. I’m not going to answer.”

Sylvain grins, pressing another kiss to Felix’s lips, quick and chaste before he straightens. “I’ll think about you.” He waggles his brows, his grin turning wolfish. “ _Every_ night.”

“Stop talking,” Felix snaps. “Don’t get bucked off your horse.” He pauses, wrenching his gaze away. “I love you.”

He hears Sylvain’s sharp intake of breath, before a steady exhale. “Love you, too.”

**plus one.**

Sylvain sends a letter ahead of his arrival.

He sends two, actually. One for the King, and one for Felix. 

Sylvain’s letters during the war had always been long-winded, detailed updates on how his time was going between battles. Felix still had them, tucked away in a small box in his desk drawer in the study of his chambers. His answers to Sylvain had been less drawn out, but Sylvain had still seemed to appreciate them.

The letter he’s given is one that’s shorter than any letter Felix himself has written. Sylvain’s signature feels longer than the three hastily written sentences.

_My father’s coming with me. He won’t explain why. We’ll be back before the moon’s end._

Felix braces for the worst as they prepare to receive the Margrave. He and Ingrid spend half a day bringing the belongings and clothes Sylvain had left in Fhirdiad to the chambers he had originally occupied, in the suites purposely left for the Gautier family. It feels _wrong_ to do so, but he knows the Margrave is nothing short of thorough in his inspection. If he senses anything is afoot, there were high chances he’d try to drag Sylvain back to the Gautier territory for the rest of his days. 

Dimitri finds him mid-morning. A rider had gone ahead of the Margrave to herald their arrival within the hour. While it wasn’t expected of Dimitri himself to go and welcome him to the castle, Dimitri still wished to, just to ease whatever terrible thing had brought the Margrave to their doors. Felix goes with him, alongside Dedue, Ingrid, and Ashe. It’s a small enough welcoming party that no one would question what they were doing, if they hadn’t had the King himself alongside them.

Still, Dimitri is stubborn, which means Felix stands beside him at the castle gates, arms crossed over his chest. He’s resisted tapping his foot impatiently against the ground, knowing that as soon as he gives in to that urge, it’ll be a nightmare for the others to listen to the noise of it.

He spots Sylvain first, atop his steed as the small group from Gautier ride through the gates. Felix frowns at the stubble lining his jaw, telling him the Margrave hadn’t even bothered to let them stay at any inns during their trip back, leaving Sylvain to prioritize other things over shaving. The Margrave rides beside him, the same fierce scowl that used to make Felix’s knees quake on his face. Felix just feels his own lips twist into a scowl at the sight before he forces his gaze away, back to Sylvain. 

Sylvain, who smiles, and Felix feels his heart stop.

Felix’s feet move without permission. Sylvain’s eyes widen, before a breathtakingly bright grin splits his face. He swings himself out of the saddle, meeting Felix halfway. He sweeps Felix into a tight hug, crushing him against his chest, but it’s Felix who moves, snarling his hands into the windswept mess of Sylvain’s red hair to tug him to his mouth. 

Sylvain makes a noise of surprise, but he moves to kiss him back immediately. Felix ignores the burning in his cheeks, the high alert stare coming from the Margrave. All of his thoughts hone in on _Sylvain, Sylvain, Sylvain_ , until he’s breathless. They part, but don’t go far, Felix releasing his deathgrip on Sylvain’s hair to move down to his cheeks, down to his neck.

“Welcome back,” he whispers, lips brushing Sylvain’s as they move. 

Sylvain’s own twitch up into a smile against his own. “I missed you.”

Felix hums a soft, “ _Missed you, too_ ,” pulling back further. Sylvain’s stubble scratches his palms, lightly, and he doesn’t know how he feels about how good it feels. There’s no time for that inner inspection, though, as Sylvain moves to nuzzle against his palm, pressing featherlight kisses against his calloused skin.

"We have to move your clothes back."

Sylvain’s lips pause on his palm. "What?"

"Ingrid and I moved them. To your old chambers."

Sylvain's hands tighten around Felix's waist, his face going through a few emotions before his eyes crinkle and his dimple pops with a wide grin. He laughs, a deep, belly laugh, and tugs Felix closer to bury his face in his neck.

"It was a precaution," Felix says, placing his hand between Sylvain's shaking shoulders.

"I know." He pulls back, still smiling, and presses a kiss to Felix's cheek. "Thank you."

“Welcome back,” he repeats, cupping Sylvain’s face between his palms.

Sylvain’s cheeks squish against him as his face lights up with another smile. “I’m back,” he murmurs. “I’m back.”

**Author's Note:**

> Felix is a full-body blush kinda guy, and no one can change my mind about that. 
> 
> i'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/wintersrose616)!


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